


On a Road to Nowhere

by plinys



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And the after math, Drinking, F/M, SHIELD Agent Maria Carbonell, SHIELD Director Howard Stark, Smoking, Though Peggy really running the show, World War II, a bit of angst because that's how I like things, fake relationships becoming real relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Director Stark fits him a lot better than Mr. Stark ever did. Or how the aftermath of World War II led to the founding of S.H.I.E.L.D , a failed marriage proposal, and a smokey morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so idk how this fic came into works, but it did. I blame (and thank) tumblr for giving me all sorts of feels, and for those people at Marvel who gave me the Agent Carter short that made me suddenly want to know everything about Howard and Peggy running SHIELD. (Because let's be honest, the feels man.) So, after making graphics that did nothing to quench my needs, I decided to try writing a fic, which is this. 
> 
> It's split into three parts, because it was easier for me to put everything together that way. Annnd this is the first part, yay! (I've actually written like 90% of the third part, it's the second that just needs to come together.) Also I apologize if this first part is a bit disconnected, it will all make sense in the end, but this is the sort of prologue part and the shortest of the three parts, so yeah...
> 
> And finally! Special thanks to **[a_little_push](http://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_push)** , who was amazing and let me rant to her about my feels and make very vague comments about the direction that this fic was going.

_“Give me your coordinates; I’ll look for a safe landing site.”_

_“There’s not going to be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down.”_

_“I, I’ll get Howard on the line, he’ll know what to do.”_

_“There’s not enough time…”_

Some part of him must have known the second he picked up the phone what the voice on the other end was going to say. He didn’t need to hear her pinched tone or the way the words refused to be said. The silence between them saying more that she ever could.

There was far too much left between them, too much that he needed to put back together. Except this time he can’t put things back together, this time it was too late. There’s only so much one can do, especially during times like these.

So he goes to the funeral at Arlington in a black coat with the stale the smell of smoke clinging to him. An empty grave, without even a body to bury, to landmark one of the greatest heroes that the world had ever seen. Too many men were lost, too many good men… Howard realizes this, he realizes that that is the way this game of war was played. 

Though the feeling only seems to sink into him later that night when those of them that are still alive sit at some nearly empty bar and try to drink their worries away, try to ignore the empty places beside them were friends used to sit.

So many good men lost, so many men far better than he could ever be, and yet, he outlived them all.

Looking back Howard figured that that was why, when a few days later General Groves approached him about a _special_ project they were working on to end the war, he said yes. 

 

\------------

 

August 1945 is a month he will never forget, no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he drinks.

Years later the images of what occured that month will be burned into the back of his eyelids. Reports will shove microphones in his face asking how he sleeps at night. Textbooks will praise him or criminalize him, depending on how liberal the author is. The young industrialist at the World Exposition will be forgotten and replaced by the man who helped to build the atmoic bomb.

However, for now, there are congratulations all around, pats on the back, and cover stories created by government big wigs. Just like that the war’s over. Somehow they just expect everything to go on like it used to. It doesn't. 

They’ve won the war.

Things are going to be wonderful.

The world's press has a field day, haven't had a celebration this big since the end of the first great war. 

This time they swear its the last one, a war to end all wars.

Howard laughs bitteraly at the claim when he sees it printed in the morning paper. 

He wonders how long that’s going to last, how long until the next war or the one after that. Did the cycle ever plan on ending? The military is already calling him in again, asking for the next best weapons to be made, giving Stark Industries the contracts he had only dreamed of before the war started.

Except he’s not sure that he wants them anymore, he sits around his big empty house, tinkers in his labs, and eyes that flying car that he never did get to work right.

Now, the people don’t want flying cars and science fiction dreams. They want to run the world. They want to fight.

More importantly though, they want him to build it.

Howard used to boast, call himself the best mechanical engineer in the states, if not the world. Sometimes he wishes he could swallow those words, but it’s too late for that, so he swallows his drink and lets the bitter sting wash away his worries. Numb enough that he can forget the dreams he once had.

He accepts the contracts for the militaries and turns Stark Industries into something more than a dream of a brighter future, to something that will protect that future, so when the world is ready it can happen. He's limited by the people of his time, by the resources, but one day the people will be ready. Until then, he waits, he builds the next biggest bomb and acts like that’s all he ever wanted.

His father would have been proud, but Howard Stark Sr was long dead by now, and long forgotten.

Nobody called him junior anymore.

 

\----------

 

He leads his first expedition out to the artic months after the wars ended. He’s warily optimistic, but not wary enough that he hasn’t brought a few bottles of expensive Champaign for whatever occasion might arise.

Howard keeps trying to rationalize things in his head, numbers that won’t quite add up, coordinates that seem off, and calculating for the shifts in the ice.

There’s a small voice at the back of his mind that wonders what exactly he’s hoping to find, a body to bury with the tombstone in Arlington or Steve somehow miraculously surviving and living in an igloo in the artic snows.

It’s such a silly idea that he never voices it out loud not until years late when he’s drinking with Peggy and she smiles in a sad way and says, “If anyone could have survived, it would have been him.” 

Maybe that’s why he keeps going back, year after year, because if anyone could do it, Steve would have been that guy.

They find the tesseract, the key behind Hydra’s powers.

It gives him a rush of excitement, hope that spurs him on for the rest of that expedition, because if they found the cube then they had to have been close.

In the end, it’s all he can do to say, “we just keep searching.”   

 

\------------

 

 “Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division,” he says the name with careful precision watching the way the President’s expression shifts.

“That there’s quite a mouthful.”

“Well,” Howard says with a smirk, “we’d call it S.H.I.E.L.D for short.”

When the S.S.R needs reconstructing after the war, Howard’s the one that steps up; with the plans and enough leverage from Project Rebirth and the Manhattan Project that nobody even questions his authority. The President claps him on the back like they’re good friends and offers him an expensive French cigar to seal the deal.

People start calling him Director Stark, and he has to admit that there’s a nice ring to it.

Director Stark fits him a lot better than Mr. Stark ever did.

 

\--------

 

Howard bugs her office, because that is what a reasonable adult does.

It’s not like he didn’t have the resources.

Sometimes he wishes that Peggy would have just accepted his offer to work at Stark Industries with him, but she was too good for that, too strong to just sit by. She wanted the action, and he couldn’t blame her for that. Staying in as a field agent for the S.S.R. had been her decision, and he respected that.

They each had their own way of moving on.

At least, he tried to respect that until it got to hard.

 “And Flynn, let her know you’re honored to bring her the news.”

Howard claims it was because she was one of the smartest women he knew, and that he needed somebody with her drive to be his assistant director. She assumes, or knows, that he heard how they were treating her at that office, and thanks him in her own way. He never has to admit that the real reason he pulled her into S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t have much to do with any that.

They had their own ways of moving one, but Howard wasn’t moving on. He was staying in the same place, and he needed somebody else there with him, somebody that could understand. 

 

\---------

 

There are parties and social events and his smile is stiff, but he’s been working on it. Sometimes he stares into the mirror at night trying out the showcase smile, the wide grin from ear to ear, that everybody expects to see. Old ticks and anxieties coming back, wondering if anybody will be able to see through it.

Though nobody seems to be able to tell the difference in any case, nobody cares to look close enough to see if the smile is real.

It's easier when they're not looking. 

In a sense, that is that which makes it easier to get through the days, realizing that nobody cares, so why should he?

Why should he give a damn, if nobody else will?

Howard gets into the fancy country clubs, drinks expensive scotch, and tries to run an ever growing company as well as one of the biggest government secrets in years.

Nobody ever said that it was going to be easy.

At least, now that he has Peggy back around she keeps tabs on things, keeps S.H.I.E.L.D. running just long enough for him to step back and let the flurry of the world tug him along, just enough to let himself feel numb, but know that the world will keep ticking on.

 

\--------

 

There’s a celebration of some sort, Howard’s not too sure at this point, too many drinks in his system, a slightly energized buzz racing about him, people moving in all directions, the click of glasses together in a toast of some sorts, small talk with people who don't mean anything to him.

She’s pretty enough, he supposes as she slides up to him to make small talk, and when he asks if she’d like to come back to his place, she’s more than willing.

Blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, long legs and a face that while not typically considered pretty was decent enough to keep his interest going. He had picked her up at the party, though Howard could have had any dame he wanted, he wasn’t taking to being choosey these days. For him they were just distractions, stress relief, as he tried to sort everything else back into order.

 He tries not to think about the fact that most of the girl’s he takes to bed seem to look the same these days, if anybody pointed it out, he would laugh and say that gentlemen prefer blondes.

The end comes far too soon for his liking, and as soon as they’re done he’s up at out of the bed, not missing her grumbling. When she makes some noncommittal comment about whether she should leave or not, he shrugs his shoulder’s finding that he honestly didn’t care.

A small voice in the back of Howard’s mind reminds him that he used to care, but it’s been easier to feel numb these days, numb means that he doesn’t have to remember the things that hurt.

Instead of caring, he hunts around for a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and letting the bitter smoke permeate the room.

This lasts for mere moments before she sits up, pulling the sheets up over her chest, somehow gaining a sense of decency in the after math of their coupling.

“Could you put that out,” she asks, wrinkling her tiny nose at him as if the smell personally offends her.

It might.

He’s unsure.

Rather than answering her he takes another drag.

“Would you go onto the balcony then?”

His eyes flickered over to where she was, wondering why she was even bothering, hadn’t she heard by now that Howard Stark doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t want to do.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” he answers without inflection.

She lasts about two more minutes, before angrily getting up from the bed and pulling back on her dress. She says something about leaving, but he doesn’t even notice that she’s gone.

It’s easier not to notice things these days.

 


	2. Peggy

 “You called me in to run SHIELD with you, not for you.”

“Darling,” Howard started, ready to give the usual answer about projects he’s been working on for Stark Industries or government contracts, and how he hasn’t been the same since everything happened, but he’s working on it.

He’s always working on it, though his tab at many of the local bars would show just what working on it meant to him.

“No, not today,” Peggy cut him off, “you’re the director of SHIELD, which means you need to start acting like it. You need to show up to these meetings, you need to be responsible for what is happening here.”

“I can’t, not yet, just give me some time.”

“I know you’re mourning,” she said her voice tight this time, “I’m mourning too. We _all_ are. But Howard, this needs to stop, today.”

She looks close to tears, but doesn’t cry.

No doubt she’s cried them all away, or she’s too proud to break down in front of him now. In the back of his mind, he knows how cruel he’s being, because while he lost a friend, she lost so much more than that.

He knows she’s expecting him to retort something back, but instead he bites back a sigh and runs and hard through his dark hair, “I am trying, you know.”

When he shows up for the meeting the next day he doesn’t miss the smile that she shoots him, and that seems to serve as enough motivation to start to clean up his act or at least to try and see how many more smiles he can get out of her.

\- - -

They’re on a mission together what seems like months later the next time it happens.

They’re on a mission, because he’s the God damn director of SHIELD, and he can go take on Hydra goons if he very well wants to. Thank you very much to the human resources department and Agent Warner for that _lovely_ suggestion.

“Cut me some slack here, darling,” Howard says with a laugh, “my field work is a bit rusty.”

“If by rusty you mean nonexistent,” Peggy answers, whirling around to fire a shot at an assailant had been aiming in his general direction.

He hates how right she is, but it’s not like he’s completely inept.

Howard, at least, knows how to use a gun, there had been incidents during the war, of course, and he was trained. He just lacks the ease in which Peggy is able to fire her gun. If he was being honest with himself he was most certainly no field agent, and had decided almost as soon as the mission had begun that he preferred his lab far over field work any day of the week.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replies with a smug grin, when this time his shot ends up going where he intended it to.

Once they’ve made it out of their alive, though not without a few bumps and bruises, Peggy pats him on the shoulder and says, “you didn’t do so bad after all, director.” Though she says his title with just the slightest mocking hint to her voice, it’s playful and he can’t deny that he likes it.

“Just think, Carter, one day we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

Though what he doesn’t expect is for the light laugh to be drawn from her lips at the very notion, there’s a cut high on her cheek and it crinkles when she laughs at him, it a way that is oddly charming. “Oh yes, a story to tell the kids.”

Sometimes he likes to tell himself that those words she said in jest don’t come back to him at his loneliest moments.

Sometimes he can almost believe it’s true.

\- - -

Later days later when he’s alone at home, and all healed up, he realizes that he’s in love with her.

And that he has been for a while, without knowing how to describe the feeling that had been growing inside of him.

It is in that exact moment that Howard admitting it could ruin everything that have going.

\- - -

He’s not even thinking about what it could mean when he said it, just caught up in the moment, it just slips out.

“Let’s go dancing,” he beams, because they need to be celebrating, they should be celebrating. Things are finally turning right around and-

Whatever thought had been in his mind seemed to come to a screeching halt as he takes in her face. She was still smiling, but her eyes betrayed her real emotions, one’s eyes would always seem to betray them.

“I didn’t mean,” he starts, but she just waves it off.

“No. You’re right,” Peggy says.

“I’m right,” he replies hesitantly, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Let’s go dancing.”

They do, and it’s wonderful, and when they’re standing under the stars later, he goes against his best impulses and leans forward pressing their lips together in something he had wanted to do for far too long.

Something that just felt so right.

\- - -

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Peggy says after the third time he’s taken her out for a fancy dinner that ended up with them back at his place.

“Why not?”

“Because Howard,” she says his name like it’s a sweet poison, “imagine what people would say, if they found out.”

“The hell with them,” he replies, because while he is more than aware what people would say he couldn’t find a care in the world to give. Interwork place relationships had always been looked down against, though Howard liked to think that he was a bit above that sort of gossip. He was the director of SHIELD, it’s not like anybody would dare to say anything against him.

“The director sleeping with his assistant director,” this time though the words carry more weight and a small part of him realizes what she’s really saying.

“You’re worried what people will say about you.”

“They’re already talking,” she admits.

And he can’t help the flare of anger that flickers through him. However, before he can open his mouth to ask exactly what they’re saying, she continues:

“It’s nobody important, they don’t even have any evidence,” Peggy says with a dismissive wave, “just jealousy making people say things like-“

“That the only reason I made you my assistant director was because you have a face?”

“A nice set of legs,” she says with a bit of a bitter laugh, “but essentially yes.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it, truly?”

“Yes, I, God,” he nervously ran a hand through his hair, “the fact that you even had to ask-“

“I had to know.”

Of course, of course she did, because he knew he had that sort of reputation.

Howard wasn’t a fool.

He knew what people said about him, the showman, the engineer with a flair for the dramatic, who could have any woman in the world, and takes what he gets. Sometimes he wished his reputation didn’t have such a habit of preceding him.

\- -  -

Howard says “I think I love you” when he really means “don’t leave me,” because being alone isn’t something he’s able to deal with. Not right now, not just yet.

He’s desperately clinging to the one stable thing he has in his life.

She must realize that, must be able to see between the lines, because when she smiles back at him and reaches across the table to squeeze his hand in hers, it feels like the sweetest rejection he’s ever received.

But it’s a rejection all the same.

\- - -

They try to act like things are normal; he backs off as much as he can. Focusing on work and letting Peggy accept and mission she likes. It makes it easier to pretend that he doesn’t feel anything, that he doesn’t care how smoothly he had been rejected. Honestly, he should have expected as much.

Peggy was too strong of a woman for him anyways, far too good for him.

So he let himself sit back and flit through life, spending far too long in his lab, because he knew, she would be the one to come down and drag him out, thrust a file under his nose, and make sure that he actually ate from time to time.

Sometimes she makes him do paperwork, and other times she sits there working on whatever flat and clean surface she can find, while he tinkers away on his latest projects. Most of the time it’s new technology for the SHIELD agents or a new weapon for Stark Industries to present, but sometimes she’ll come to find him when it’s one of his personal projects.

Her favorite is his car, the red thing sitting in the corner that reminds him of days he still had the stars in his eyes. “One of these days, I’m going to get this thing to fly,” he reassures her, his pants stained with grease and bags under his eyes betraying how long it’s been since he’s had a solid night of sleep, though whether she believes him or not is another story entirely.

\- - -

“Marry me, Carter,” he says one day, with a joking tilt to his head. It not something he hadn’t said before, but usually it’s done after she’s just saved the day again or when he’s hand too much to drink.

To be fair there’s a nearly empty glass of brandy between his fingers, and a small part of him is afraid to admit just how much he had meant the words as he spoke them.

When she laughs it off, he puts back on his carefree smile like nothing had happened.

Not like he expected anything to come of it; he didn’t even have a ring.

Plus Howard was never the type to imagine getting down on one knee to propose to the girl, and Peggy would probably kick him for trying. So he shrugs his shoulders as if it hadn’t even mattered and makes a move to pour himself something stronger.

“You shouldn’t joke like that,” she says later when he thought that the topic had been dropped, “one day I might actually take you up on that offer.”

“Sometimes I wish you would.”

There’s a look, a single look across the empty space between them and the quite of the house that pulls them together once more.

One last try, for old time’s sake.

That’s what they try to tell themselves.

\- - -

“We never would have worked out,” she says once they’ve pulled apart and he has lit up a smoke.

“That so,” Howard asks, after taking a drag.

“Mhmm,” she says already up and searching for her clothing among the mess that had been left in their wake, he smirks thinking about how her dress is likely still in the kitchen from when he had so expertly worked off the buttons, “ I would always be nagging you not to work so hard, to drink less,” he snorted at that one, “to actually attend meetings for once-“

“I attend them.”

“Not often enough,” Peggy replies with a laugh, “we would drive each other crazy.”

“And we don’t now?”

“It would be different.”

_Different._ Would different really be that bad?

“You’re right,” he eventually says, his attention more on smoking than her, “you’re too good for me.”

He’s still young, well young enough, and he’s rich enough that nobody cares about that anyways. He could have a Hollywood starlet on his arms within hours if he wants, he’s just that good. But none of it would matter, because the only dame he ever wanted, the only one he cares about is sitting right beside him stealing his cigarette from between his fingers and insisting that they would never work out.

It’s sort of ironic he supposes.

Still, he watches her, the long lines of her body as she gazes out the window to where the city lights shine back at them, and smoke curling out from between her lips as his cigarette burns down in between her fingers.

There’s a beautiful sort of sadness in the air, and he can’t find it in himself to look away from her, because she’s been his anchor, though an unwilling one at best. 


	3. Maria

He’s at some sort of charity event, glasses clinking, checks being signed, hungry-eyed politicians making small talk and business men vying for their next contact.

Normally he would have been able to convince Peggy to come to these things with him, even if not as his date per say, she would still come as a friend. This time though he was alone, Peggy was off on some mission in Europe for the weekend, if not longer, and he was forced to go to some stuffy charity event.

Howard’s had a bit more to drink than usual, and was having a hard time paying attention to the man talking to him.

Though he’s good at acting like he’s listening, nodding when the moment requires it, and faking a smile as he takes another drink.

Howard’s so busy pretending to listen to the man across from him who is talking a mix of politics and business, that he doesn’t notice somebody slip into their group until she’s spoke up.

“Pardon me,” the young woman says, she’s a slip of a thing with dark hair that falls down in soft curls over her shoulders and a dress that’s just a bit shorter than what would be considered proper by most men’s standards. Her lips are painted far too red for her complexion and her pearl’s hang low on her neckline, but there’s a certain charm about her.

She’s making small talk with his companion, though she keeps glancing over her shoulder a bit nervously when she thinks he isn’t looking.

“Hiding from somebody,” Howard asks, when she notices him watching her.

There’s a flicker of something there, before she regains her composure and smiles at him, “oh surely, something of that sort.”

Her eyes move away from him to their companion, a man whose name Howard has long since forgotten, “Mr. Richards, would you mind if I stole Mr. Stark away for a few moments.”

“Not at all,” he says, winking at Howard before turning away.

Once Richards was out of ear shot she turns to him with a more determined look and says, “would you like get some air?”

He’s not even given a moment to respond before she turns on her heel. Honestly, Howard considered just letting her go, but there was something about this woman, something that he could not place and something that rather fascinated him, if he was being entirely honest with himself. So, against what could probably be considered his slightly hazy better judgment he follower her out from the mass of socialites and politicians.

Though they’ve barely been outside for a few moments, when he realizes what all of her nervous glances were for.

It all happens a bit too quickly for him to say who fired first, but one second the young woman’s making nervous small talk and the next she has a gun out, which honestly in a dress like that where was she even hiding that thing, and shots are flying. She’s fluid and graceful, and his first thought it how nice it would be to see her out of that dress, his second thought is far more starling as Howard tried to figure out who was shooting at who and who was on his side.

“Director,” the woman beside him says, which he puts two and two together to assume that she’s one of his, “now would be a good time to pull out your firearm.”

Which, would probably have been a good idea except, “I don’t actually have one.”

She shoots him a look which seems to ask if he’s serious, before pulling him down behind a wall cropping with her, “when Agent Carter say you were a bit,” she paused clearly deliberating whether or not to insult him, before continuing, “I honestly thought she was joking. I hoped she was joking.”

“Shouldn’t you have a spare,” Howard asks a bit accusingly when she’s popped back up to hit another one of their assailants.

“A spare,” she shouts incredulously, “where in god’s name would have I kept a spare.”

“Darling, I’m still trying to figure out where you put the first one.”

“Let’s just pray my backup gets here sooner rather than later, Director.”

Her backup does, and once they’ve dealt with the minor hiccup and SHIELD agents move onto the scene, to erase all signs of a skirmish as quickly as possible, Howard finds himself at a loss of what to do. People keep turning to him looking for some sort of direction, though Howard’s more amazed than anything to find that a there was a good number of agents at what he had been led to believe was a harmless charity event.

When the mess had begun to settle down again, he finds her, the girl from before, now with a pea coat draped over her dress and her rouge rubbed off onto the back of her hand.

“So I take it you’re one of mine,” Howard says faux-casually.

“Congratulations, Director Stark, your deductive powers are truly remarkable,” is her reply, with just a hint of spice and sarcasm.

“I didn’t realize I paid my agents to be insubordinate.”

“I didn’t realize you signed my checks.”

“Good point, Miss,” he pauses finding that after all this he still hadn’t bothered to learn her name.

“Agent,” she corrects with a slight upturn of her nose, “Agent Maria Carbonell.”

\- - -

He sees her again two days later, knocking on the door to his office with a stack of paper work in her hand and her dark hair pulled back into a more practical bun.

“Director Stark, I have some documents that need your impression.”

“What?”

“I have some documents-“

“I thought you were a field agent,” Howard blinks past the haze in his mind, and his initial shock of having seen her so soon since last time, speaking his mind like he’s always been known for.

Maria for her part lets out a slightly exasperated sigh, “Agent Carter asked me to,” she bit her lips before continuing the same tick she had before when she had been resisting the urge to insult him, “to keep an eye on you while she was out on her missions.”

“Is that right,” Howard asked with an amused chuckle, “so they have you doing paperwork?”

“For lack of anything better,” she says, moving forward to place her stack of paperwork in front of him, and pulling a pen out from behind her ear to offer to him.

Howard takes the pen, briefly scanning over the documents and looking for where to sign. “You’re frustrated.”

“I’m not,” she lies, but they both know she’s lying and after a moment she corrects herself, “my skills lie in espionage, I speak six different languages and can use a variety of weapons. I just feel, a bit like my skills are going to waste as I sit around here keeping an eye on the director.”

“This is why you were at that party.”

“Precisely.”

Howard signs his name with a flourish when he finds the right line, before turning up to meet the young woman’s deep brown eyes, “would you prefer I lived recklessly that way you had more work?”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Maria said with a bit of a grumble, “I would prefer that you did your work, and if it isn’t too much trouble, remembered to carry a firearm.”

Before he could open his mouth to retort something back about why he wouldn’t possibly ever need to do that. She had swooped forward to take the papers off his desk, and left his office.

\- - -

Peggy takes more missions lately, more dangerous ones, and Howard tries to think that it might be in part due to what happened between them. No doubt things could have been awkward, but he hadn’t considered them to be. At the same time, Peggy had always been a go-getter and he had admired her for that, admired her drive, she was born to be a field agent, whereas Howard had been born to be an inventor. At least one of them should be able to properly live out their dreams.

Though Peggy being gone means that his space is more often than not being invaded by Agent Carbonell, who without him noticing it had somehow been able to not only be close by whenever he was at SHIELD headquarters, but had somehow wheedled her way into being around Stark Industries, though he was certain she was not actually posing as an employee.

So, when there’s another one of those fancy parties that he has to go to and pretend to be nothing more than a CEO of a million dollar company with a government contract, and is once again without his usual date, he decides that he might as well make it official.

“Agent Carbonell, wear something red and I’ll have my driver pick you up by seven.”

The agent for her part doesn’t even seem surprised by his words, but rather asks, “and if people ask about us?”

“I seem to remember something about you being an expert as espionage,” he clicks his tongue with a bit of amusement, “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

Later that night when they show up at the cocktail party, Maria stands by his side the entire night, batting her eyes and playing the role of the pretty little fool. She twirls of flute of champagne between her fingers, and puts on an accent that is stronger than her usual.

Howard listens in as she delights their companions about tales of growing up on the Italian country side estate and shopping in Milan. She plays the role of dizzy socialite far too well, to the point where Howard’s not certain what are lies and what are truths.

Though most curious to him is when the night has gone off without a hitch and they’re in the back seat of one of his expensive cars, that the act completely drops, the silly drunken girl fades away into an agent with just a hint of something else between a cold façade.

“We should do this again sometime,” Howard says, as he slings an arm along the back of her shoulders.

There’s a moment when she tenses, before settling back against him and saying, “as you wish, Director.”

\- - -

She had a core of iron beneath her prim exterior, something nobody at those cocktail parties seemed to notice not when she batted her eyes, twirled her flute of Champaign, and insisted that her only “true skills lied in drinking.”

For Howard it was fascinating to watch the change, the grace that she seemed to slip into the second that other people were around; how her accent would become just slightly thicker and she would talk about dresses and charity balls with the wives of other men like him.

It was only when they were back in the limousine that her act would drop, and the calm calculated exterior of Agent Carbonell would return.

His father always had said that Starks were made of iron.

He liked to think that that had something to do with his growing fascination for the young woman.

\- - -

Three fancy dress parties later and he’s expressing his worries and doubts to her at midnight with drinks in their hands. Wondering what the hell he’s actually doing here, and she tries to talk him back from a self-destructive brink.

Two after that and she’s confessing the truth in some of her tales, about her family of Italian immigrants or that she really can’t stand vodka. Silly things that you never really learn about people until you ask.

A week after that, he’s not sure who moves first, but hands are sliding down the sides of a lace dress and he’s remembered what it feels like to move against somebody.

\- - - -

Howard’s gotten older, years have gone by since the war, and he can feel it in his bones. He can feel it in the way his hangovers seem to pound harder now and the dames seem to be getting younger and younger. However, it doesn’t strike him quite so starkly until the young women, who had been assisting him, mentions that it will be her birthday in a week’s time.

“I’m old enough to be your father,” he remarks, and gets a laugh from her in return.

“You’re not nearly that old,” Maria quips back, “are you?”

“No, not nearly.”

He knows he’s not, not that old, but the years since World War II have worn down on him, lines at the corner of his eyes, show just how much time has passed. Sometimes he tries not to look into the mirror.

\- - -

“Where do you go on your trips,” Maria asks one day seemingly out of the blue.

“Which ones,” he replies, knowing too well the direction that the conversation was going to go, and hoping to stir it away at the last moment, “I take many trips. I was in Atlanta the weekend before last, and there was the conference in Belgium before that. I could take you on the next one if you would like.”

He’s not sure if they’re at that point in their relationship. If it’s even a relationship, or just a careful chess game between two experienced players, each moving about the other in circles and carefully worded phrases. She’s a curiosity to him, and he’s an assignment for her, both well too aware of the fact. They make an effort not to speak about anything personal, to keep it focused on business when they’re alone, and to make fake small talk when others are about, saying words that mean nothing.

So that is what catches Howard so off-guard, that is why he tries to distract her with the idea of another trip, because talking about something real, something personal, doesn’t seem safe.

“No, not those,” she says, her dark eyes searching him for clues, “your trips,” she pauses as if struggling to find the right words, “they’re not on the SHIELD budget, though there seems to be no logical reason that they would be for your company, so I was curious.”

“Who is curious,” Howard asks, “Maria or Agent Carbonell?”

“Both,” she remarks coyly, as if that’s the right answer.

And he supposes in a way it is. After all, it illuminates exactly what fascinates him about her.

“Agent Carbonell’s clearance level isn’t high enough for that information,” he smirks, not missing the slightly annoyed expression that flickers across her face.

“Then just me,” she corrects.

“I,” he stops then starts again, “I am looking for someone.”

“For Captain Rogers,” she asks.

Bitterly he wonders why she would even bother asking if she had already known the answer. Though he does not bother voicing those concerns and she does not offer up anymore words. She just waits, eyes never leaving him, for some sort of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

He thinks that that is the end of the topic, as she lets it drop and engages him back into the prospect of going with him on his next trip out of the country for work, mentions how it would be nice to visit her grandmother in Verona.

It’s weeks later as he clears his schedule and prepares for the next trip that she gives him a soft sad smile and asks, “how long will you keep looking?”

 

\- - -

“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” Maria asks one day.

“I’ve got a flying car.”

“That’s not funny Howard,” she says with a pout.

“I was being serious.”

“Truly,” she asks, excitement lining her features, “does it truly fly?”

“It hovers,” he admits with a small grin, before extending a hand down to her.

Maria reaches out to grasp his hand in hers; her grip is strong, not nearly as dainty as she would like men to believe. He has to admit that he’s impressed that beneath the expensive perfume and pearl necklace is a woman strong enough to grip his hand without hesitation, toe off her heels, and follow him down to his workshop.

 There’s only ever been one other woman, more like one other person, that he had welcomed into his private domain. Maria is no Peggy, he knows that in his heart, but still he cannot help himself from watching her expression as she takes his secret place in. Her eyes flicker over chalk boards and machinery, stepping over messes spilled upon the floor, not carrying if her panty hose snag.

He shows off the car with the flashy smile he used for the cameras during the Exposition of Tomorrow back in 1943. The times may have changed, but the look of wonder is still there when he turns the thing on.

“When will it be finished,” Maria asks, once his demonstration has finished.

Howard finds that he can’t actually answer the question; he’s spent too long putting his personal projects on the back burner to focus on more _important_ things.

Somehow they end up inside the car, with the windows rolled down, a glass of champagne in her hand and a tumbler of whiskey in his. Maria sit in the passenger seat remarking on how the car would be much better if it had a retractable roof, showing her lack of knowledge about aerodynamics. When he dismisses the suggestion she just shakes her head, “so you’re telling me, the great Howard Stark can put a minibar in his flying car, but can’t give it a retractable roof.”

“Is that a challenge, Agent Carbonell,” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Undoubtedly, Director Stark,” she says with a quite laugh, “I still can’t believe, you have a bar in here.”

“Well, what if I was driving-“

“Flying.”

“Flying,” he corrects with a wink, “and decided I needed a drink. What would I do then?”

She rolls her eyes at him, and takes a sip of her champagne.

“You know, people say that you ought not to drink while driving, it’s dangerous.”

“Sweetheart, in case you haven’t noticed I’m the director of SHIELD,” he ignors her laugh at his side and continues, “I build dangerous weapons for a living. I’ve survived a world war, flown a plane into enemy airspace, defeat Nazis and Hydra goods. I highly doubt a car is going to be what kills me.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Maria says with a playful smirk, “I mean, I’ve always heard them say that the arrogant narcissists are the ones that live the longest.”

\- - -

There had only even been one dame that he had truly ever loved. Only one that he had ever really considered being with, and when she had turned him down, well Howard had just resolved to spend his life as a rich bachelor, but sometimes plans change, and that wasn’t something he had been entirely prepared to deal with.

“Darling,” he asks with a slow drawl, “how about we go down to the court house and get hitched?”

Howard is ninety percent certain that he’s joking, okay seventy percent, but still. He’s speaking mostly in jest, a cigar between his fingers, and a smirk on his lips.

“Are you proposing to me,” Maria asks, her eyes not even leaving the paperwork in front of her. At this point, so used to her bosses eccentrics that there’s about nothing Howard could say that could surprise her.

“Hypothetically speaking if I was-“

“But you’re not,” she interjects with just a hint of confusion to her voice.

“But if I was,” he continued, “what would you say.”

There’s a pause. Howard waiting for some kind of answer and Maria seeming to care far more about her paperwork than actually paying attention to him. Though when she does finally look up at him shuffling her papers together, there’s a look of mild amusement on her features.

“I’d want to see the ring first,” she finally says.

He doesn’t have an engagement ring, but then again this is just a game, a play between them. He looks down at his hands, where the think weight of his family ring rests upon his finger. Without hesitating Howard twists it off his finger and sets it down on the table beside her stack of papers.

Her eyes flutter upwards to meet his and without lowering her gaze, she reaches forward sliding it onto her ring finger where it fits loosely. “I was expecting diamonds, but this will do.”

“What if I wasn’t being hypothetical,” Howard asks before he can fully think the words through and begin to regret them.

“About the marrying you part or the eloping part,” Maria says slowly.

“Both, either, more the marrying part than the whole court house thing, I could buy out a cathedral if you’d like or something on the beach or,” he stumbled over the words, in a way that he hadn’t since he was in grade school asking the pretty girl on the playground for a kiss.

“Well in that case,” she replies, her eyes falling to her hands, and his following her gaze effortlessly, “I’ve always dreamed of a spring wedding.”

\- - -

Pinpointing the exact moment when Howard realized how much he cared for her wouldn’t have been an easy task, and it wasn’t as if the thought had never crossed his mind before. People asked, whether at parties or in the preparations for the wedding. Peggy asked, when the both had a bit too much to drink and were sitting in the office, her voice taking on a slight tone that he almost thought was regret, but it was gone too soon to be sure. They all asked the same question: why her? When he could have any woman in the world, why did he choose this one in particular?

Sometimes when he was with the guys, he would laugh it off, and say “look at her and tell me you could resist that.”

Other times he would play it off and say, “she was the first one that said yes.”

And though he will never admit it he knows the exact moment when he realized that game between them was something more than business.

He knew from the first time hands found hands and breaths mingled in the morning air, that there was something speak about this girl, this one in particular.

It was after some dinner party when he had convinced her to come home with him, and when he had convinced her to stay, and they were barely inside the door before his hands hand found the way to the buttons on the back of her dress, knees knocking together in a way that made him feel less experienced than he was, and the high energy between them as if every nerve was electric.

Maria was the first one to speak afterwards, breaking the silence between them and simply asking, “do you mind if I smoke in here?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnd that's it I'm done. I hope you enjoyed me venting all my head canons into fic form. thanks for reading along :3


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